


To Patch This Together

by Holladay Street (street)



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Episode: s02e01 Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, M/M, post-ep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-16
Updated: 2009-02-16
Packaged: 2017-10-11 15:28:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/113902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/street/pseuds/Holladay%20Street
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pairings/Characters: Jack/Ianto, walk-on parts for the Team, John Hart has exited stage left.<br/>Cautions: some swearing<br/>Disclaimer: If I owned Torchwood more smut would be cannon</p><p>"The sports car was theirs; Ianto knew that much."</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Patch This Together

The cheekiness and bravado were right there on top, easy to see. The fear, the fumbling, and the exhaustion were a few layers down. Ianto watched them dust their clothes and mill together on the roof of the car park. It came to him in a flash that perhaps the reason the others were missing the subtle signs was because they had never seen Jack sleep - never watched his laugh lines smooth into melancholy vulnerability, never felt him clutch and shake with dreams.

The sports car was theirs; Ianto knew that much. As the others shifted their focus onto Jack out of habit Ianto faded into the background. He juggled keys, shifting handbags and packets of gear so that when the summer team slid into their usual seats in the SUV it was without a second thought. They slammed their doors, rolling down windows in the warm air. Ianto listened to them arguing the relative merits of clubbing or a late show at the cinema. He suspected, however, that once they had absorbed the sea change of the last twenty-four hours they would scuttle back into their accustomed solitude - Tosh curled in a blanket on her couch hacking the PubMed database for an appropriately obtuse journal article, Owen slumped on a prominent stool in a dive bar, Gwen climbing the steep steps of her flat to shag or nag her fiance.

And Jack, the gullible instigator of today's events, appeared almost powerless - as so often, the direct victim of his own decisions. He shifted a half-step towards where Ianto leaned against the car, clearly unsure of his role without of the reassuring buffer of the full team.

"I guess a dashing get-away would wrap up this little adventure pretty well."

The vulnerability in Jack's face contrasted with his brash tone made Ianto suddenly furious. The younger man knew his role here. He knew that the team's re-cohesion in the coming days would depend on a confident, grounded Jack. And that the man standing across from him was perhaps farther from that description than he'd been in a century.

Ianto knew that this, as with Torchwood's ancient infrastructure when it required fixing, was his responsibility. And he knew that it was within his ability to mend. His nature as a care-taker, a people-watcher, and a fucking push-over meant that he would now put Jack first.

He drew and released a deep breath, consciously un-clenches his hands from the edge of the car, and searched Jack's face again. Yes, the pain and fear were fresh - still feral in Jack's system in a way the older long-standing hurts had never been. Yes, the opportunity, the duty, was immanent.

Banishing the squick of John Hart's sloppy seconds from his mind, Ianto crossed slowly to Jack and slid a flat hand up Jack's lapel and around the back of his collar to the tense muscles at the base of his neck. Catching Jack's eyes Ianto finally felt compassion surge past resignation and he released a breath, finding a himself in a still point that seemed unfamiliar after the whirlwind of the past day. Ianto eased two fingers into the hollow at the base of Jack's skull, massaging minutely. As Jack's head sagged forward at the the touch he caught Jack's lips in a soft, paper-dry kiss. Jack tensed, echoing Ianto's stillness, then let go a trembling sigh and pressed again towards Ianto's mouth.

Seeking Ianto's free hand with his, he instead received the keys to the convertible.

"Come back to mine, Jack. Let's get you out of these clothes you died in."

.~.~.~.

As soon as the business of parking and lifts and shoes is finished Jack is awkward again. A band poster across from the door is fascinating, perhaps coffee would be a good idea, and oh, did Ianto notice that his geraniums are about to flower? Jack had geraniums once - a Torchwood employee whose name has long faded (but whose arm muscles somehow succeed in maintaining a large presence in Jack's monologue) used to put them out on the tourist office steps in the summer, where they looked so cheerful.

Ianto used fresh coffee to draw the jabbering man to the sofa.

"Gwen talked of telling you right away, you know. Mentioned it first thing before we'd even all seen the ring."

"Isn't that a lovely tradition - symbolizing a deal that's been used within living memory as an economic bargaining tool by flashing around a few hundred pounds sterling on your finger."

"Living memory? Really, Jack? It seems pretty firmly about love and commitment now."

"Well I guess that's the advantage of living once - all the current definitions must feel so true . . . "

"Jack, who's Gray?"

". . . the only way to get context is to crack a history book, and we wouldn't want that, now would we? No charisma in the past."

"Jack . . . "

"It's fine, Ianto. I'm fine. Your couch is for fucking, not for therapy."

Ianto drew a long breath to still the frustration that bubbled up again in the awkward pause. He watched as Jack leapt up to cross the lounge and stare out the window, shoulders held wide but breath rasping and uneven in the quiet room. Setting his own coffee cup aside, Ianto crossed to him and ran both hands over Jack's shoulders, curling his fingers inside the lapels of the coat Jack hadn't yet removed. Jack shivered slightly as Ianto lifted it from his shoulders.

"I just got that back."

"Hm. You usually keep the important things close."

"There's holes now, where there weren't before."

"It was never meant to be forever, Jack."

"Can we mend it, Ianto? Please?"

"Are we still talking about the coat?"

"I don't know . . ."


End file.
